Noro Comrades
It was foggy and cold the day I stepped onto the southern end of Shenandoah. On the first climb, I ran into van Gogh, a hiker from Australia I had leapfrogged with in the past. I stopped short and warned him that I had just had noro. “Me too,” he replied. We began hiking together slowly, both still feeling a little wobbly. Van Gogh didn’t have any vomiting, just the other end. I jokingly called him a “Noro tourist” since he hadn’t experienced the full array of symptoms. …
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